Founding Four
by Randel
Summary: A series of character sketches
1. Musing of a Serpent

**Musing of a Serpent**

The small study was well furnished, well warmed, and well lit.  The stone fireplace was filled with licking orange flames which crackled a warming counterpoint to the bitter wind howling outside.  Tapestries of varying shades of green and glittering silver hung from the walls keeping the warmth in.  There was a small bed near the writing desk, for times when work went well into the night.  Several candles burned around the room; three on the desk, one on the end table next to the bed and two on the bookshelf.  

The man who occupied the room sat at the writing desk, a small book open upon it.  The book, of course, could be read only by him.  Any others who should try would end up with a splitting headache at the least.  The emerald clad man dipped his eagle feather quill in the ink pot and set his thoughts to paper.  

_I am leaving the school.  _

It looked so strange there in writing.  So final, so committed, so… sad.  

He wasn't normally in the habit of keeping a journal.  It was too risky to leave a record of one's thoughts.  Such a thing could too easily be turned against the one so foolish as to do so, even with magical protections.  And yet he felt as though after all that had happened, after all he had done to prepare, he needed a way to organize his thoughts.  The countless nights spent staring at the darkened ceiling of his bed chambers, agonizing over these events, had had no beneficial results.  

_Despite my warnings, despite my arguments, Godric insists on taking non pure students.  I cannot understand this decision.  The muggles are dangerous and untrusting of that which they do not understand.  Ignorant fools.  But even ignorant fools are dangerous in large numbers; and there are many more muggles than wizards.  When Godric accepts muggle born, he will further expose our world and this school, to the muggle folk.  They will descend upon us with torches and pitch forks, howling for our blood like mindless animals.  And yet Godric cannot understand this.  Rowena partially supports my position.  She has a critical mind and sees that I am not wrong, though she does not believe that I am right.  _

But then, she didn't know.  None of them did for he had never told. Of how as a child he had been able to make things happen.  Could tell what others were thinking.  Could talk to snakes.  And it was this last, this _gift of being able to converse with serpents that had sealed his fate with the people of the village in which he had been born.  They had said he was possessed.  Then they had said that he was himself a demon.  The stake had been set and the fire started before he had been able to make his escape.  _

_I have created a secret chamber within the castle.  Within this chamber I have worked some of my greatest magics.  I have nursed a basilisk.  Some would call the King of Serpents a monster.  I suppose that is one of my weaknesses.  I have always had a soft spot in my heart for the more dangerous and persecuted of beasts.  They are driven and tenacious despite adversity.  Much like me.  _

He paused and ran a hand over his closely trimmed beard.  Then he reached for the mug of cider and lifted it to his lips.  It was cold.  With a word he warmed the drink and sipped, allowing the fluid to warm his body.  

_The basilisk is young yet, but when it is ready, it will be the greatest protector of this school.  The howling masses that Godric will bring down upon the school with his misguided open-mindedness will be unable to stand against my serpent.  I have worked too hard to get where I am.  I have worked too hard on this school to allow it to be tumbled to its foundations without a fight.  _

_My talent with beasts and ability with Parseltongue has insured my complete control over the basilisk.  The spells I have set will make certain that only one of my bloodline will have this same ability to control the basilisk, will have the power to defend the school when those who fear us rise up against this place.  But I cannot stay at the school.  I must entrust its safety to my heir.  _

He blinked back a tear.  The first and only he had allowed himself since he was a ten year old boy and his village had decided to burn him for a devil.  It was Godric who had found him.  Tired and hungry and dirty.  Who had taken him home to his family's house and who had discovered the wonders of magic with him.  They had studied together and eventually, with assistance of the two other greatest wizards in the world, established this school.  

And now he was leaving.  

_Helga, Rowena, Godric… They are my friends and I will miss them.  _

He set down the quill, waited a moment for the ink to dry and closed the book.  A tap of his wand and the book sealed itself.  

Tomorrow… he would leave tomorrow for he could no longer stay at the school.  He simply could not.  


	2. Ravenclaw at the Writing Desk

**Ravenclaw at the Writing Desk**

The air was still.  In the high atmosphere a soft rush of feathers stirred that air as a large eagle flew north.  The bronze primary feathers, dark blue down and ebony talons were markings never before seen on an eagle, until the appearance of this bird.  She was particularly unique.  

Far below her the castle came into view.  The construction of a Quidditch pitch stirred in her feathered breast a feeling of vexation.  Perhaps it was inevitable.  Ah well, let the boys have their game; in the end it caused no harm.  Beating her wings a few time, the majestic raptor guided herself towards the newly founded school.  A slight adjustment of a tail feather here and there kept her easily on course.  When she could see her specific destination, she dove.  

The eagle screamed, as only a raptor on a cold morning could, in pure exultation of the dive, an experience like no other.  After several moments, as the dark stone castle quickly grew larger, she unfurled her wings and manipulated the feathers, smoothly coming out of the dive and landing on a broad sturdily constructed platform outside her window.  Hoping from there to the floor, she concentrated a bit and returned to her human form.  She was a tall woman, with dark hair, green eyes, and pale skin.  Taking the deep purple robe from the hook by the window, she wrapped it about herself and tied it off.  

A light knocking at the door took the woman's attention and with a word of power and a gesture, she opened it.  A small person, not human, with large floppy ears, a small upturned nose, and large green eyes, entered the room bearing a tray of food and a bottle of wine.  He was dressed in the way of their kind, in a stark white pillow case, the school coat of arms embroidered on its left breast.  Peculiar creatures, house elves, and this one, Leban, seemed to have taken a liking to her, seemed to think that she needed someone to look out for her.  Well, it was certainly useful, if nothing else.  

"Good morning, Mistress Ravenclaw," Leban squeaked merrily as he set about preparing her breakfast for her.  "Did you enjoy your flying mistress?"

Ravenclaw.  That's what they called her now.  It used to be Rowena Ravenhair, before she'd become animagus.  The new name suited her she thought.  "Yes, Leban, thank you."  

Rowena smiled at Leban.  Truth be told, she had taken a liking to the elf as well.  His simple reasoning to life in general was refreshing when she found herself overanalyzing things with her much vaunted logic.  That's not to say that he was simpleminded, he just looked at things in a very simple manner, said it made more sense that way.  Well, Rowena was first to admit that logic couldn't solve everything, but that was simply too far.  And just far enough.  It was the opposing outlooks that could be so easily shared without any sort of ridiculous shouting that debates all too often turned in to that Rowena found charming in the little elf.  Their differences had created a friendship.  

"Will you be needing anything more, mistress?"  Sometimes Leban and Rowena would sit and talk about all manner of things in the morning before the wizard went to attend to her students, but on this morn, the founder of House Ravenclaw had something on her mind.  

"No, nothing more this morning."

Leban smiled again and bowed and left the room.  

Rowena put some cheese and thinly sliced meat between a couple of crackers from the tray Leban had brought and set it all on a small plate.  Then she poured the dark red wine into the crystal glass and took it all over to her writing desk.  It was a simple plain of wood with an ink well and simple feather quill, made from one of her own primary feathers, set upon it.  From a drawer beneath the writing surface, Rowena retrieved a small leather bound book and opened it revealing blank pages.  Taping the pages with her wand, the book automatically turned to the correct page.  Then she began to write.  

_In the months since Salazar left the school, even leaving his students behind, I have been contemplating the future of our kind.  Godric believes that we will be able to harmoniously coexist with the muggle folk.  Unfortunately I see this as quite naive.  It's not that I'm a cynic, simply a horribly disappointed romantic.  I want to believe Godric's ideals, but I simply cannot.  Not after what I've seen.  Perhaps in a time long from now we will be able to live without fear of persecution for an accident of birth. _

_Perhaps._

Roweena sipped at her spiced wine and licked a few of the crumbs from her fingers.  In the company of others she would never have licked her fingers, but here in her private chambers she allowed herself the deviation from decorum.  

Rowena picked up another slice of cheese and ate it before continuing.   

_And at the other extreme is Salazar.  He hates muggles and even muggle born wizards.  Godric, accepting students born of muggle parents was the last straw for our old friend.  Now that he is gone, there are rumors floating among the students questioning Salazar's motives and morality.  Some are even saying that he has hidden a monster serpent within the halls of the school.  Neither Godric, Helga, nor myself believes this of course.  Salazar would sooner renounce his magic than harm this school.  _

_As for myself, I am of a middling ground, as I often am.  A compromise between Godric's idealism and Salazar's  conservatism.  I believe that we will continue to live in secrecy but that we will have nothing to fear from the muggle world or muggle born wizards  _

Rowena looked over what she had written and sighed.  Writing her thoughts as they came wasn't always the most eloquent, but it often helped to organize them and sometimes provided an answer.  But not today.  These thoughts would continue to chase themselves about her mind for some time to come, she was certain.  Would Salazar's fear be proven correct, or would Godric's hopes be validated?  Or perhaps her own prediction on the matter would come about.  

The words faded from the page and Rowena closed the book.

It was time to prepare for class.  No matter the outcome of the future, one must deal with the present.  There was a school to run and students to teach.  And there was so much to teach.  As the black haired woman dressed and left her tower to see to her students, a sudden small smile began to play upon her lips.  Almost as though she now had an answer to a vexing riddle.

_Not just magic, she thought, _but the reasons for the persecution of our kind and how to avoid similar outlooks in the future.  __

"There is so much to teach, and I will teach it."


	3. Badger's Stump

**Badger's Stump**

Helga, the groundskeeper, stomped across the meadow under a mid morning sky. It was autumn, the season of early morning chills and early evening hearth fires. The first days of mulled wine and apple cider. The leaves were all beginning to turn as the trees prepared for a months long sleep. All this she felt in the natural magic about her. I seeped up from the land and she read it like a familiar old book.

Helga, or Professor Hufflepuff, as her apprentices insisted on calling her, stopped at the edge of the forest. She took a deep breath, enjoying the clean air. Current events would pass, bur for now there was little enough to enjoy.

Since Sal's disappearance, the politics of the school had gotten far too complicated. First was the matter of someone to take over teaching Sal's students. They didn't want any of the other founders to teach them. Helga had heard of dueling in the lower dungeons over the privilege of the position. This is not what the four of them had intended.

Not even Sal.

Second, much slander had come upon her old comrade in the past weeks. Not from Rho or Godric, of course, but from some of the students. They were citing old superstitions about snakes and Parseltongues. That was what prompted the unbidden thought of 'not even Sal.' It was this kind of nonsense that Helga had intended to stamp out with this school.

Finally, Godric had sunk into a depression. He and Sal had been good friends.

Ah well. Helga was a simple woman. That is, she was uncomplicated. You got what you saw with her and she always dealt with the world one problem at a time, here and now.

Helga waded through the forest. For over an hours she walked, giving brief greeting to hose creatures she was friendly with. The earthy smell began to relax her and she began to become one with the forest around her. Life in the forest was simpler. There was no worry over the leader of the serpent's den or of the future.

She sighed as she entered a familiar clearing. Her clearing. In the center was the stump of an ancient oak felled years ago by a storm. It was curiously chair shaped and Helga sank into it, feeling the power of the place. It was a cosy seat for one who wished only to escape the over complexities of a life filled with humans. Even if only for a little while.

Wizards were a dying breed. Few saw it, but in the coming centuries, it would become obvious. Living with muggles was the only solution. Sal was wrong about that. It wasn't that they were dangerous. A single muggle was generally as rational and intelligent as any wizard. But as a group, the followed a herd mentality that could be devastating. Even as a group of wizards could. The distinction was meaningless in that context but was the basis of Sal's ire. And yet a group of wizards in such a mob was far more dangerous.

Ah well.

Helga let the ancient power of the stump seep into and relax her. She didn't want to think on that again. Not just now. For a little while... just to feel, as nature felt. That's what she wanted. Just to feel...

Silently, she began to cry.


End file.
